


Duty or Dishonor

by musicquartz



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-11 09:35:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7042726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicquartz/pseuds/musicquartz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle has just lost her son, her husband, and her life. On top of helping the Minutemen, she's being pulled apart by an old civil war she's just beginning to understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Commonwealth

As Belle reloaded her combat rifle and pressed her back against the hot concrete of a Boston apartment building, she thought she was about to leave this world the same way she entered it: screaming and covered in blood.  
       

Shaking, she wiped the sweat off her brow and closed her eyes, listening to the rough grunts of Super Mutants stomping around the corner. The sun was relentless and Belle felt like her scrapped armor was burning her skin. She was too afraid to move and pull her clothes back under to cover her forearms, so she sat and grimaced until the stomping gradually moved further away.  
     

 After what seemed like hours, Belle relaxed and set her gun down to stretch her legs. She sighed, and looked at the sky. The sun was right on top of her, and she ruffled her short hair in frustration. Getting to Finch Farm was a hell of a lot harder than Preston had made it seem. Sneaking past raiders wasn’t that big of an issue; they stomped around like they owned the entire Commonwealth and were easily avoided. But Super Mutants? Belle scoffed and stood, scooping up her gun and holding it close. They had those damn hounds.  
     

 She moved out of the sun and checked her Pipboy, squinting at her radio options. She tuned to Diamond City radio, smiling. Travis may have been an insecure DJ, but he sounded sweet enough, and his voice was a welcome distraction from the loneliness that threatened to crush her.  
       

After helping the settlers at Finch Farm with whatever they needed, she planned on headed southwest towards Diamond City, the Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth itself. She was anxious to find her son, but she knew she wasn’t any help to Shaun as a grief-stricken, panicked mother. After helping Preston at Concord, it became shockingly clear how eager and capable the Commonwealth was to kill her.  
     

 Besides, she thought in disgust, the man who took her son seemed more than capable of babysitting for a few weeks. Unless they were planning on killing him. Panic seized her heart in an icy grip before she managed to calm herself down, remembering his words. They wouldn’t kill him.  
     

“We still have the back-up.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Belle moved urgently, hopping over guardrails and making tight curves around enemies. The thought of her baby fresh on her mind, and the memory of her husband with a frozen bullet hole in his heart, put fire in her step and a small, boiling rage in her stomach. She checked and rechecked her gun, fidgeting with her clothes and brushing her hair out of her eyes. She checked how far away Finch Farm was on her map for the umpteenth time, filled with nervous energy.  
     

“Just another mile. Just one more,” she said to herself, squinting into the distance. The sun was starting to tease the bare treetops and her heart dropped. There was no chance she could get back to Sanctuary before dark; after a moment, she doubted she could even help Finch Farm before dark.

Her Pipboy chirped, and she glanced at it. She’d finally passed out of the range of that AF95 radio frequency, which had been nothing but static when she listened in. She shrugged and kept walking, humming along to Atom Bomb Baby as she climbed another hill.  
     

She remembered somewhat bitterly how much she’d complained about the local Boston scenery.  


_“There aren’t enough hills and trees, Nate.” A pregnant and grumpy Belle crosses her arms, looking out over the scene from their new backyard, away from the city._  
_“_

_Yes, but the stream is nice, isn’t it? Very historical.” Nate was always patient, before, during, and after the baby. The war hadn’t changed who he was, and Belle had thanked God everyday for it. “Don’t you like the water? I’m sure we could take Shaun out there.”_  


_Belle smiled, a hand on her small baby bump, “Or Charlotte,” she corrected, “But yes. We could.”_  


_Nate stretched and wrapped his arms around Belle, kissing her behind the ear, “Quit pretending like you don’t love it out here. I know it isn’t Seattle, but you’ll love Boston. Trust me. There’s plenty of diners, cafes, and parks for you to brood in.” He grinned happily, like a child, “And there’s Fenway Park!”_  


_“You know I don’t like baseball that much, Baby Ruth.”_  


_Nate laughed, tickling her sides, “First of all, that’s a candy bar. Secondly, I will raise our kids to love baseball even if I have to tie you down to do it.”_  


_Belle looked out over the stream and into the woods again, smiling contently. She turned her head and pecked Nate on the lips._  


_“Sure thing, Baby Ruth.”_  
   

 Belle shuddered and wiped her eyes, pushing Nate from her mind. He was gone, and this was no time to mourn him again. She instead pictured Shaun, safe again and in her arms. They’d live in Sanctuary with the same, odd neighbors and Preston. Shaun would grow up with a loving mom and a dog. She’d become another grey face in the Commonwealth, never venturing far from her home, growing tatos in her backyard.  
   

 She adjusted her armor again, already feeling the chill that came with the night, and pressed on, seeing a rooftop when she crested the next hill. She started counting her steps to occupy her mind, and kept an eye out for feral mongrels. Preston told her that they liked to slink around settlements at night, stealing off with crops and brahmin.  
     

Belle jogged up to a settler as he was walking inside, turning her radio off.  
   

“Excuse me-?”  
   

 He turned around quickly, drawing his gun, “I don’t need anymore trouble! Especially with your kind! Who are you?”  
   

“Hey-hey! Put the gun down, I’m with the Minutemen!” Belle raised her hands in surrender, eyeing the gun carefully.  
   

“The Minutemen? I thought they were damn near wiped out.” He lowered his gun, holstering it and crossing his arms suspiciously.  
   

“They were. But we’re rebuilding.” Belle smiled politely, her feet throbbing from the journey and dripping with sweat. “I’m here to help.”  
   

“I sent word with a passing caravan, but I didn’t think anything would actually come out of it.” He smiled, shaking her hand. “I’m glad you proved me wrong. But there’s a group of raiders nearby, they’ve been harassing us and threatening the farm if we don’t pay them tribute.”  
   

The settler looked disgusted and worried, and Belle put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of those raiders for you. Where are they?”  
   

“You have a Pipboy? Here, I’ll mark it on your map.” He took her arm gently and squinted at the map, placing a marker location roughly half a mile northeast of the farm.  
   

As he waved her off, he wrung his hands and glanced at the farm’s small shack, “Be safe, alright? My wife’s already strung out over this more than I am.”  
Belle smiled and nodded, “Of course. Thank you.”  
   

As she walked, she checked the sky again. Sighing, she turned her radio back on. Maybe they’ll let me sleep with the tatos when I get back, she thought.


	2. The Forged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle has her first run-in with what the Commonwealth can really throw at her.

Falling back from a blast of raw heat, Belle jammed a stimpak into her arm roughly. She cried out and dropped behind some steel barrels, reloaded, and felt the stimpak flowing through her veins.

At least the post-war science junkies did one thing right, she thought as she quickly stood and fired off a couple of shots, hearing the sickening sound of metal punching through meat. She crouched back down and winced as bullets pinged off the flimsy metal she had for a barrier. She looked down at her arm and watched the red, charred skin slowly fade to its normal olive color.

“Come on, little girl! I’ll make it nice and quick…”

A psychotic raider rushed her, jumping over the barrels and aiming his pipe pistol at her, laughing maniacally. Shrieking, she ducked to the side and fired blindly behind her, her gun nearly flying out of her grip. The raider grunted but kept firing, the Pyscho in his veins keeping him upright.

“I swear to God, Preston, if I make it out of here alive-,“ she quickly scrambled to her feet and turned, firing a few more shots to down the stumbling raider before making a break for it, “-I will kill you.”

Belle vaulted over a stack of rotting palettes and pressed her back against the wall, blinking sweat out of her eyes. As if the heat of the Commonwealth wasn’t enough, these assholes had to go and fire up the old ironworks building. Panting, Belle reflected once again at the irony of it, peeking out around a stack of crates. _Three more, dammit._ This thing had been abandoned when she moved in. 200 years ago.

She shook her head quickly. _Not now._ Thinking about the past now would get her killed. After thinking for a moment, she ruffled around in her pocket, reaching past loose cigarettes and the few caps she had. Her hand closed around what she was looking for, and she shrugged away the fact that it wasn’t technically hers. Triumphantly, she pulled the Jet inhaler from her pocket and brought it to her lips. She hesitated, remembering both Mama Murphy’s request and very spaced out attitude. Hadn’t Preston said Mama Murphy was a drug addict?

Belle had never done drugs in her life; anything stronger than prescription codamine for the occasional flu made her sick. Then again, she thought, a little bit of Sight would be a helluva lot more helpful than a strong moral code right about now.

She pressed down on the inhaler, taking a long drag of whatever was inside. Her eyes fluttered and she dropped the inhaler, grinning and bringing up her gun.

“Oh… _Yeah..,”_ she stood and rounded the crates, her vision focusing on her targets like she was a walking VATS system. A few quick pulls of her trigger and the room was painted red, the smell of copper and gunpowder mixing in a sick concoction. She lowered her gun, disregarding the bodies as the Jet clouded her mind. She watching her hands move across her face in slow motion, deciding she had nothing better to focus on.

A few minutes later, she looked up and blinked away the last bits of Jet fog in her brain. The gore around her made her grimace and almost gag, the rough heat of the ironworks testing her stomach. She grimaced at the blood stains on the floors, walls, and stairs. Looking down, she kicked the Jet container away, trying to forget how good I made her feel, even in the heat of battle.

And how it made her forget, just for a minute, who she was.

After letting herself feel disgusted for a few moments, Belle headed towards a staircase at the far end of the building. Smelling the raw scent of charred flesh as she crept up the stairs and along a vaulted boardwalk, she wished, not for the first time, that she’d let Preston come along with her. Dogmeat was out of the question- Belle already loved that damned dog too much to let him in harm’s way.

Preston had insisted that the raiders near Finch weren’t ordinary. He’d said, “The kind of raiders you saved us from at Concord? Those weren’t anything compared to the Forged that’s harassing the Finch family. You can’t go alone.”

And, true to her stubborn nature, she’d gone alone.

“Hey- Shut the fuck up for a second! I heard something.” Belle froze at the rough voice, holding her gun close, slipping her finger inside the trigger guard. She looked down through the twisted metal of the boardwalk and held her breath as two raiders looked around for her. After a few minutes, one shrugged, “Must have been nothing. I swear I’m jumping at shadows these days…”

Belle didn’t dare move. Her legs were cramping up and she flexed her toes, watching as they lumbered back to their positions. She took a deep breath and pressed the barrel of her gun to a space in the metal, holding it tightly against her shoulder. She slowly aimed for the raider with the flamer by his feet. Closing one eye, she let out a shaky, silent sigh. And fired.

“What-? No!” the other raider cried out, rushing to her friend’s side as he slumped to the ground. Belle didn’t move, watching through her one eye. Blood was pouring over the dead raider’s face, pulsing from a bullet hole above his left eyebrow. His friend grabbed his face and shook him for a second before letting him go. The raider stood, bloodstained hands cupped around her face. “I’ll find you! I’ll kill your ass, I swear to God!”

The raider moved too fast for Belle to line up another shot, so she stood quickly. The raider grabbed her friend’s flamer and looked around wildly. _Shit- Don’t look up, don’t look up…_

She looked up, her eyes locking on Belle, a sick grin splitting her face. Belle raced for the far end of the boardwalk, jumping over an overturned desk and catching a glimpse of the raider slamming a bulky syringe into her arm. Belle stopped to breathe and look around right as the raider raced up the nearest staircase, taking them two at a time like the flamer she was carrying weighed nothing. She was separated from Belle only by a missing piece of walkway. Belle looked on in fear, the raider glowing red from the heat and whatever she’d jammed into her arm.

Belle raised her gun, out of the flamer’s range, and was about to fire when the raider took a step forward and roared at her. Normally, Belle would have laughed to herself at it and fired anyway. But the rage and power that tore out of the raider’s mouth sent nasty shivers down her spine. She could almost hear the raider’s throat tearing and going raw as she backed away, just holding onto her gun with shaking hands.

The raider backed away also, holding the flamer close to her chest, before taking a running start before jumping towards Belle’s side of the platform. _That’s impossible, she can’t jump over here with that! It’s like a 10 foot gap!_

The raider landed, only a stumbling a little before screaming in anger, bring up the flamer and covering Belle in a blanket of fire. The heat was intense, causing her to drop her gun as she curled in on herself, shrieking from the pain. She tried to move backwards, bumping into the desk she’d jumped over earlier.

Belle fell, curling as she continued to scream, her eyes squeezed shut, feeling her skin blister and boil under her armor. Desperately, she kicked out wildly in an attempt to kick the raider away. She felt her foot land and, over the roar of the flames, heard a sharp snap. The raider screamed in pain and fell, dropping the flamer.

Belle, groaning from her burns, was reluctant to even reach into her jacket pocket for a stimpak. She thought about just lying there until the raider recovered and finished her off or the Commonwealth took her like it took her husband. She heard the raider writhing a few feet away, cursing for a stimpak or some more chems.

Belle slowly blinked open her eyes and looked at the far wall, reaching into her pocket. She could see Shaun splashing around in infantile delight in the stream by Sanctuary Hills, and running around as a toddler. Hell, she saw him running around with Dogmeat and other children as a young boy. She wondered if she was seeing what could have been before realizing; this was the future she had to fight for. Even without Nate, without a perfect life, without the false sense of security that came with living in the countryside.

Damn if she was going to let the Commonwealth take Shaun away from her.

She weakly slid the stimpak from her pocket and jammed it into her thigh through her burned clothes. She grinded her teeth to keep from crying out, letting go of the stimpak as its medicine quickly worked to heal her burns. In a few seconds, she painfully pushed herself into a sitting position.

“You’re still kicking?! Jesus-,” the raider clawed towards the flamer but Belle leaned and pushed it under the railing and off the walkway. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Belle stood, her strength returning, and limped around the crippled raider. She reached down, hissing in pain as her armor rubbed against her, and picked up her gun. The raider spit at her, sitting up and pulling her knife. “You broke my knee, you bitch.”

Belle stepped away from the knife, standing behind the raider. “Really? Do weak knees run in your family?”

“Shut your fucking mouth. I won’t die like this!” the raider strained to stand, her bad leg bending slightly. She screamed in pain and collapsed back down.

Belle raised her gun unceremoniously, “Say hey to your friend for me.”

 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

 

As she walked, Belle scraped the gore off of her boots. The raider’s head had exploded a lot more than she was expecting, and her feet were red with it.

Even though she was dragging her feet, she looked through all the raiders’ bodies before continuing further into the ironworks building. No stimpaks or Jet to be found, although she found some more ammo and reloaded her gun. Her job wasn’t done, and she knew they’d just bulk up the place if she didn’t wipe them out now. She shot and destroyed a turret with ease, looting the ammo from its casing. Rounding a corner, she saw a very ceremonial looking set of double doors, with light and extreme heat radiating from under them.

She sighed, checked the magazine of her gun, felt her last remaining stimpak, and pushed open the door.

The first thing she saw, blinking against the heat, was a settler lose their head and fall into a vat of molten iron. She covered her mouth, looking from a man in power armor with a sword standing above the vat down to a young boy standing beside a kneeling man.

“We don’t need farmboys, Jake. We need raiders ready to murder and steal from whoever they want. We don’t need you,” the man in power armor said, glancing at Belle as she entered, “But you have one last chance to prove yourself worthy of us. Kill the man in front of you and prove to me, to us,” he gestured around at the other raiders beside him, “that you are even worth our time.”

Belle stepped forward as Jake mumbled to himself, panicked, “Y-you said we’d be raiding outside the Commonwealth! That I could protect my family!”

“No one gives a rat’s ass about your family, boy. Now kill the man, or die. And we’ll sac your Daddy’s little hick farm next,” the man laughed cruelly, pointing the flaming sword at Jake.

Belle stepped forward and put a gentle hand on Jake’s shoulder, “Hey- You don’t have to do this. You can go home.”

“N-no, there’s no way. My dad will kill me, there’s no going back,” Jake raised his pistol to the man kneeling before him. Belle grabbed his wrist and looked him harshly in the eyes.

“If you don’t walk away right now, Jake Finch, I’ll throw you in that pit myself. You’ll be fine, and you won’t need to join a raider gang to stay that way,” her grip tightened. “Kapiche?”

“I-..,” Jake hesitated, looking from the settler, to the man in power armor, then finally to Belle. “Alright,” he relaxed, pulling his arm away from her, “I’ll… I’ll go home.”

The man in power armor laughed happily, like he wanted Jake to give up all along, “Wrong answer, farmboy! Now we’ll kill you and your little girlfriend!”

Belle looked in horror as two flamers and a fiery sword were pointed her way. She quickly grabbed the settler and pushed him towards the door, not bothering to untie his restraints, and turned to stand beside Jake, gun raised. Sweat beaded down her face and her hair was plastered to her face and neck.

She glanced quickly at Jake and looked back at Power Armor, firing off a shot. The bullet pinged off his armor and ricocheted into the vat.

“…Shit.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooh and that's ch2. don't worry, dansey pants is coming in the next chapter, i just hope i can get his character right. ~~what will happen to belle and jake finch?~~ *twilight zone music* and in case you were wondering, the raider belle fought was using pyschobuff


	3. Ad Victoriam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse reflects on his mistakes as Paladin and wonders if he's cut out for the Brotherhood at all.

“Haylen, Rhys, get inside! Now!” Danse fired his laser pistol again, filling the air with the smell of sulfur and burning flesh. Feral ghouls were crawling out of every corner they could fit, dozens of them rushing the police department at a time. Their howls and snarls filled the air, overrunning the small Brotherhood team.

Scribe Haylen yelled over the gunfire, “Not without you, Paladin!” She was half inside the doorway, with Knight Rhys waiting inside to barricade the doors as soon as everyone was safe inside.

“I’m right behind you, dammit,” he fired a few last shots, killing the last of a wave of ghouls. He could hear more crawling out of gutters and windows just around the corner. “Now go!” He rushed her inside, taking the barricade from Rhys and shutting the door right as a feral rounded the corner of a nearby building. He slid the bar into place between the door handles and leaned against the wall, eyeing the door carefully. After a heart-pounding few minutes of silence, he slid his pistol back into the power armor’s holster.

“That was too close, Paladin,” Haylen said, concerned. Her hood was askew, and the left sleeve of her sweater was torn from the shoulder, hanging on her arm by a few threads. She had a wet and bleeding scratch on her shoulder. Danse twisted off his helmet and held it in his gloved hands, looking at her.

“I know, Haylen. We can’t keep trying to scout Cambridge. Those ghouls have us trapped in here until we make contact,” he replied as he walked over to the front desk. "Go tend to your arm before it gets infected with some Commonwealth filth." After setting his helmet down, he checked the radio once again to make sure their repeated message was still playing.

The room was silent, the air heavy with unspoken words. It wasn’t likely that they’d ever make contact; especially if they stayed here. Rhys sat in a chair, putting his head in his hands and rubbing his temples.

Irregular, labored breathing soon drifted into the room, and Haylen peeked around a connecting doorway pitifully. She stepped into the room, and Danse glanced at the now empty doorway sadly. The Knight that Haylen was trying to save was on death’s doorstep and there was no way of saving him. Both Danse and Rhys knew, and Danse suspected that Haylen did as well. But her heart, true to her title, was too soft to accept the truth on her own.

He turned back to the front desk and began organizing his ammo, listening as Haylen peppered the air with “It’ll be okay” and “You’ll be fine.” Rhys cleared his throat pointedly and walked over to Danse, leaning against the counter.

“You have to tell her, Paladin. She's been tending to him for days; James isn’t going to make it, and she’s making it harder on herself,” Rhys was blunt, but he had a soft spot for Haylen. This was obvious, even to Danse, and he replied patiently.

“I know that, Rhys, and you know that. But I’m trying to let Haylen let go on her own.”

“But she won’t. She’s going to keep tending to him until he’s a vegetable and you know it, Danse. You have to tell her to let him go.”

Danse brushed away Rhys attitude, turning to him. He studied Rhys for a moment before his hard features finally softened. “Alright, Rhys. I’ll talk to her. Go get some rest before you fall asleep on your feet. That was a hard battle.”

Rhys nodded, satisfied, and walked into the room across from Haylen’s makeshift medbay. He set up his sleeping bag in a private cubicle and laid down. Danse sighed, relaxing when he heard Rhys’ steady breathing. He tread as lightly as he could around the small wall that separated the open space from behind the counter, although his power armor made it sound more like thoughtful stomping. He pressed a button in the collar of the power armor and stepped out, ducking so he wouldn’t hit his head on the hatch.

Haylen walked into the main entryway shortly after, blood on her fingers and a worried expression on her face. “I’m worried about James, Paladin. He’s not-,”

Danse interrupted her and lowered his voice. His tone was naturally commanding and rough, but he found through experience, both good and bad, that the best way to soften his voice was through its volume. “Scribe Haylen, I think-,” he cleared his throat, uncomfortable, “-you need to let Knight James go. He’s suffered enough for the Brotherhood. There’s… There’s no way to save him now.”

He thought for a moment before continuing, “Give him an overdose of Med-X. He’ll go peacefully and with his pride. The Brotherhood will honor him for his sacrifice.” Danse blinked a few times, fighting to keep his emotions in check. He hated how he sounded, like James was nothing more than a soldier. Like he wasn't family. He was torn apart by the death of another member of his team. They started with seven strong and were now down to four. Danse glanced at the doorway, heart sinking. Make that three.

Haylen looked heartbroken, and Danse could see tears threatening to spill over. She took a deep breath and nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. “Yes, Paladin Danse,” she replied, turning without a word of complaint and walking solemnly into Knight James’ room.

He watched her go, stomach churning. Although he usually considered himself very capable of separating his emotions from the field, he could feel a lot of them threatening to spill over. He didn’t know if he’d done the right thing, but he knew it was what Haylen and the fallen soldier needed. His gunshot wounds were fatal, and Danse could hear him crying in the middle of the night when his Med-X wore off. On top of that, if Haylen couldn’t learn to let go in the field, it would be detrimental to her abilities as a field scribe. And, Danse thought as he turned back to his work, she’s one hell of a field scribe.

Danse listened to Haylen talking the soldier to sleep until he couldn’t stand it. He turned and walked outside, glancing at the clock as he went. 2100 hours; the ghouls should be far away by now, attracted by the lights and sounds of Diamond City. And his watch would be starting soon anyway. He sighed as he slid the barricade from its place and leaned it against the wall, stepping into the brisk night air and quickly shutting the door behind him.

Like he thought, there were no ghouls in sight, the usual shambling and groaning that accompanied Cambridge in the daylight silenced. He held his laser pistol at the ready anyway, stiff-backed and focused. He found solidarity the perfect time to think, especially at night when he could feel the cool Commonwealth air on his face.

He thought again about his fallen brothers and sisters. Family, all of them, and he’d let them down. He sighed, rubbing the stubble on his face. Leaning against the wall, shifting until the bricks weren’t digging in his back- _Damn these thin suits-_ , he stared into empty space. Solidarity wasn't going to help him tonight.

Senior Scribe Williams, 56 years old and on one of his last field missions. Maxson had been more than reluctant to let him go, flat out refusing to let him leave the Citadel. He’d insisted on going to the Commonwealth, however, said he ‘wanted to give those softies a “what for”’. Maxson eventually relented, knowing the old man had been Brotherhood blood long before he was born. Danse smiled, remembering Williams’ brash nature and loud tone. “Easy, boy, you’ll scare off a Deathclaw with that face,” he’d joked with Danse in reference to his permanent sour expression, throwing protocol to the wind. While initially taken aback, Danse learned to ease into the scribe’s habits.

Scribe Haylen was his shadow, hanging on his every word like it was gospel. She’d been the most affected by his sudden death. While not directly anyone’s fault, Danse still blamed himself. He should have known the old man’s heart was fragile, even if he refused to admit it. After a serious fight with a Mirelurk’s nest, Williams’ had been injured. Not severely, but enough to make his heart give out long before Haylen could do anything about it.

Danse rubbed his eyes as another named flashed in his mind. Knight Newman. It was their fifth week in the Commonwealth and they were all still raw over Scribe Williams’ death. None of them were prepared for the Behemoth in the Boston Common, and Knight Newman, heroic as ever, sacrificed herself to help her team get away. Danse shuddered at the memory; he’d never seen something rip apart power armor like it was nothing. Newman had pure Brotherhood blood in her veins, and Danse could feel his eyes welling up at the memory of her eager, loyal attitude.

The Commonwealth was unrelenting, taking Sergeant Alexander from them a little over a week later. Unused to the various breeds of monsters surrounding the Glowing Sea, they’d fired at what they thought was a normal Deathclaw as they scouted the area surrounding Lake Chocituate. The beast rushed at them at a terrifying speed, making its glowing scales and  bright green eyes painfully clear. After a vicious fight, Alexander was left surrounded by his team, pinned under a half-ton Deathclaw. They stayed with him for three days until his lungs gave out. 

Danse pushed away from the wall and began pacing, swinging his pistol at his side. He remembered Haylen’s heartbroken eyes and his chest ached, knowing it was killing the rest of his team to say goodbye again. Alexander's death was only last month, and death began to question himself. Initially he blamed the Commonwealth, but... he should have been more prepared for it. The Brotherhood was his life, but what was that worth if he kept leading innocent people to their deaths?

And now Knight James, shot down like a sick dog by a bunch of raiders on a high. Danse remembered the way he and Rhys tore them apart while Haylen dragged James to the relative safety of an abandoned corner store. While the memory gave him a certain level of sick pleasure, the larger portion of him wanted to scream into the night, ghouls be damned. 

He stopped pacing and leaned his forehead against the cool, brick wall. He pictured Cutler, who never let him down, never let him make mistakes like these. Whenever Danse needed him, there was Cutler, covering his 6 like he could read Danse's mind. They protected and loved each other and that was enough. Somehow, through poverty and the hellishness of the Capital Wasteland, it was enough to just have each other. Now Cutler was gone, and Danse was flailing. Without his best friend, the Brotherhood was just something to throw his effort into it. Something to hold onto it, and even that was slipping from his control. 

Not for the first time, Danse was having trouble finding his purpose. He wondered briefly if he was losing his sanity, knowing that the tasks of this world could crush a soldier's heart effortlessly. He'd seen it before, and was terrified that he was next. Why was he here, why was he Paladin; why was he even alive when the world should have chewed him up years ago? He holstered his gun and turned, looking up at the sky. If the world was rebounding after 200 years of radioactive poison, why couldn’t he escape the deaths that plagued his life?

An hour had passed when he heard the door open behind him. Shaken out of his reflections, he turned and saw Scribe Haylen, head bowed and shoulders slumped as she shuffled towards him.

“Haylen? Are you-,” he started, creases of concern shadowing his eyes.

Before he could say anything more, she stepped forward and leaned her head against his chest, hiccupping. He was about to awkwardly pat her on the back when she broke out into full, unhinged sobs and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I- um-,” Danse cleared his throat, taken aback. He wasn’t expecting anything like this from any of his soldiers, and had no idea what to do. He wasn’t familiar at all with other’s strong emotions from others. At least, not since Cutler.

“I-I’m sorry,” Haylen started, and pulled away. Danse could see an embarrassed flush cover her face under her tears and felt a sort of brotherly protection flood his heart.

“No,” he said firmly, pulling her back and holding her. “It’s alright, soldier. I’m..,” he searched for the right words. Unable to find any, he settled for just holding her. It was enough. 

Although he was a little uncomfortable, he found it reassuring that Haylen trusted him so much. Even after everything that'd happened, every mistake he'd made, his team was family; this was hard proof. He held her for a while, listening as her sobs turned to sniffles and she finally calmed down.

She smiled, wiping her eyes as she gently pulled away from his arms, “Thank you, Danse,” and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. As she turned and went back inside, he smiled faintly. He ran his hand through his hair, sighing through his nose. He didn’t think he’d ever find a way to tell Haylen how she may have broken down, but she pulled him back from a very dark precipice.

Danse wiped his eyes and sat, staring at nothing, for the rest of his watch. At 0000 hours, he stood, walked inside, and woke Rhys up for his watch.

Between people like Haylen and people like Arthur, Danse thought as he settled onto a scrappy bedroll, maybe the Commonwealth could be saved yet.

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i know this is SUPER slow ch but i promise its one of the last slow ones; i just thought itd be nice(painful) to read about what a torn up softie danse really is :,) ((also i know technically this all happened months before sole wandered into cambridge but i shortened it for creative freedom's sake))


	4. Cambridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle helps Jake reunite with his family and sets off for Diamond City; she's interrupted by a strange signal on her Pipboy.

Belle didn’t have another Jet container, so she settled for the next best thing: her Pipboy’s VATS system. She selected the torsos of each Forged quickly as they ran down two flights of stairs towards her and Jake. As soon as she hit the “Go” button on the side of her Pipboy, she could feel her arm moving rapidly, like it had a mind of its own, and she fired when the Pipboy chirped at her.

Unfortunately, the raiders were wearing body armor, and the bullets, while hitting them like a kick to the gut, didn’t actually stop them. _Dammit,_ Belle thought, backing up against the door.

“Hey kid?” she said, firing and hitting a raider in the shoulder, causing him to stumble. “Do me a favor.”

“What is it?” Jake stammered in response, raising a shaky pipe pistol and firing haphazardly at anything that moved closer.

_Jesus, this kid was going to be a raider?_ “Cover me.”

Belle ducked to the side, away from Jake, grabbing an old, small crate and flinging it towards the nearest raider in hopes of distracting him enough to get close enough for a confident headshot. He simply batted it away and bared his teeth at her as he stalked close, Belle frozen in an almost comical running stance.

“Easy, big boy. Can’t we just hug it out?” Belle stood up straighter, trying to line him up in her sights as another one shuffled towards Jake. The raider growled in response and clicked on the gas on his flamer, lunging.

She dove to the side, desperate to escape the flames that’d already kissed her skin before. She rolled sloppily before rising to one knee, popping a quick shot in his leg and another one in his head when he fell.

She turned quickly as she rose to her feet, looking around for Jake. Sudden heat below her feet made her look down between the grates in the floor, and she saw Jake dancing around a flamer, firing shot after shot when he could.

_1,_ she thought, glancing at the fallen raider behind her, _2._ _Where’s-?_

Belle looked up to see a very large, very silver hand come very quickly towards her face. With no time to move, she turned her head away from the punch; it was enough to make stars explode behind her eyes, but she stayed on her feet. She fired three more shots at the man in power armor, blinking away tears, and they were all deflected.

“Give up, girl. No one escapes the Forged and no one escapes Slag,” he snickered cruelly, raising the flaming sword.

Belle stumbled backwards, feeling her cheek beginning to swell. Her gun didn’t waver, however, as she tried to aim through the cage he had around his face. “I’m going to assume that sound you just made was your name. Was that a sneeze?”

He roared in anger and brought the blade down. Belle dropped to her knees and quickly scurried through his legs. _So much for being a badass Minuteman._ She found herself behind him and she quickly turned around and sat on her butt, firing over and over again in a desperate attempt to hit anything not made of metal.

She hit him in what would have been the middle of his back, puncturing a small, blinking container. Belle cocked her head to the side, watching as steam erupted from the hole and the Geiger counter on her Pipboy clicked to life. The armor beeped a warning and the container ejected itself, flying around the room until exploding a few feet away. She realized what the Fusion Core was, abruptly remembering an old conversation with Nate about his time in the army.

 Belle stood up and watched in amusement, leaning against the railing, at Slag trying and failing to move the heavy suit.

“Nuclear power… Everything and nothing, isn’t it, Slag?” she grinned and held her gun in one hand. Slag screamed obscenities at her and craned his neck to look at her, spitting.

Below her feet, Jake had the other Forged pressed against a brick column, pipe pistol to her head. Belle heard a sharp popping noise and looked down to see Jake pulled the flamer from her slumped form.

“Nice job, kid,” she gave him a brief thumbs up before turning her attention back to Slag.

“I know that you _really_ don’t want to open that armor, considering it’d be your exposed back meeting the barrel of my gun. But if you don’t,” she shot towards the vat, the bullet making a soft thud as it met the molten iron, “I’ll just drag you over there and let you cook inside your little can.”

Belle was a bit upset at herself for wasting a bullet, but she shrugged it off. Fun was fun, and if the Forged wanted to worship fire so much, she was sure Slag could take the heat.

“You bitch- You have no idea who I am! They’ll come for you, just you wait!” Slag screamed, waving his sword viciously. As viciously as one can swing a sword when he’s just flicking his wrist about.

“A-huh, I know. You raiders all love each other so much, I’m sure they’ll be breaking down my door in your name,” Belle raised her gun, closing one eye and chewing on her tongue.

“Oh, not those fuckers!” Slag laughed, but Belle disregarded him, rolling her shoulders, “You’ll be sorry you ever took up with those Minutemen freaks!”

He screamed, and Belle could see spittle flying out of his mouth whenever he turned his head to try and speak to her, “He’s spoken to me, the one that’s got your boy! He said to fucking kill you!”

Belle’s heart froze, her arms wavering a bit. She lowered the gun, staring at Slag’s armored back. The room, boiling and heavy, suddenly become cold, and she could hear her heartbeat. _Shaun._ She shook her head, hardening her soul again and scowling at Slag as she ground her teeth. “You’re lying.”

“No, sweetheart, I’m not. Some freak spoke to me and told me your damn name!” Slag laughed again, “His name was Kellogg, Belle, said he should have killed you when he had the chance! I can see fucking why!”

Belle raised her gun and jammed it through the bars of his helmet, twisting the barrel against his skin.

“Shut up.”

 

                                    ------------------------------------------------------

 

Belle walked in silence beside the Finch boy, her gun holstered across her back and the sword tucked into her belt loop. Her mind could only focus on one thing: _Kellogg._ The name was unfamiliar but there was only one face it could belong to. That bastard with the scar that shot her husband.

“So, um, Miss Belle-,” Jake stammered before she interrupted him.

“It’s just Belle, kid. What is it?”

“Thank you. For… For what you did back there. Did my dad send you?” Jake looked both hopeful and terrified.

Belle looked at him and thought for a second. “Yes, he did. But not for you. He just asked me to kill Slag.” She almost felt sorry for him as his face fell and he looked at the ground.

“Yeah, well. I shouldn’t be surprised. At least you’ve got the sword.”

“The…?” Belle put a hand on the hilt, furrowing her eyebrows at Jake, “Did you steal this from your family and give it to that asshole back there?”

Jake was silent and Belle scoffed. Of course this kid would do something like that. Of course.

They were cresting the hill to Finch, the moon directly overhead when she spoke up, “Look, I’ll help you with your parents if you can help me convince them to let me stay the night here. Deal?” Belle smiled at the kid, holding out her hand. She was still pissed that he’d be harebrained enough to even consider being a raider, but she also couldn’t help throwing him a bone. She’d done stupid stuff as a kid too. She shuddered. Too much stupid stuff.

Jake gave her a small smile, shaking her hand quickly. “Deal.”

“Stay here,” she said, walking up to the door. She knocked a few times and waited, hearing shuffling and a match strike inside. The door opened and a very tired looking Mr. Finch opened the door, gun in hand.

“Oh, it’s you. Did you go after those raiders?” he asked, rubbing a hand across his face.

“Yes,” she replied, pulling the sword out of her belt loop, “and I brought a couple things home to you.”

“My great grand-dad’s sword!” he looked elated, “What else could you have-?” His expression fell when his son stepped into view.

“Hey, Dad…”

Belle could hear exclamations inside as what she could only assume to be the rest of the family rushed outside.

“I told you never to show your face here again, you-!” Mr. Finch’s very fatherly tone was interrupted by his wife. She tore her husband and son a new one, insisting that they were going to be a big, happy family whether they liked it or not. Belle had to admit to herself as she heard the woman rant to her family, she had the spunk of a Commonwealth woman yet unbeaten by the world.

A few minutes later, Belle was happily situated on the floor of the Finch residence, listening to snores and looking at the sword she’d been given. She smiled and touched the blade tentatively, remembering how Slag had it set on fire. _I think you and I are going to get along just fine._

_\----------------------------------------------------_

The next morning, Belle stood at a crossroads, staring at her map. One on hand, she could head back home, resupply, and get another assignment from Preston before asking him to tag along on her journey to Diamond City. On the other, she could throw caution to the wind and press on, disregarding her dwindling supplies and imminent death.

She waved goodbye to the Finch family and threw caution to the wind, heading southwest.

She’d get to Diamond City faster by cutting straight through East Boston, but she could see the buildings stretching into the sky and knew that buildings meant alleys for raiders and mutants to settle into. She made a face, remembering the trouble she had going past Medford and Slocum’s Joe. She turned towards open field and walked west, planning on cutting a sharp u-turn when the buildings were behind her.

Belle kept an eye on her Pipboy as she walked, switching between the classical music channel and DCR. The classical music was soothing, but it made her want to fall asleep. She made a mental note to tune her radio back home to it; she had enough trouble sleeping as it was, the gunshots that echoed through the Commonwealth at night just made it worse.

Only a few hours into her journey, her Pipboy chirped at her urgently. When she looked, she saw that she’d once again passed into the AF95 frequency. Curious, she tuned in and listened to the irregular static. Belle turned to her map and sighed when she saw that the frequency could be coming from any of the southern buildings she was passing. But, she noticed, the signal was getting stronger and she hadn’t changed her course.

Her curiosity quickly overcame her when she heard snatches of voices cutting through the static, and she left her radio tuned to it, walking with a new purpose southwest and into southern Boston.

When the signal was clearly a voice, albeit too weak to understand, she crossed over Tucker Memorial Bridge and kept walking west. She could hear clear clips of gun fire and a female voice, “...running low on supplies… air support…. Cambridge Police Station.”

At that, Belle’s interest skyrocketed. She went from curious to involved: CPS was where she was going to begin her new job. She would have started the Monday following the bombs. Belle shivered and pushed the memory from her mind. She turned the frequency off and rubbed her eyes. _At least I know where I’m going._

No more than 20 minutes later, she began to hear faint gunshots. But, to her momentary confusion, they didn’t quite have the same resonations that gunshots did. After listening in more, she remembered the military’s laser technology; of which Nate, she remembered melancholically, wasn’t fond of. _“What’s the point of a gun if it isn’t even a gun?”_

She smiled, picturing Nate in his power armor. Even if the gun “wasn’t a gun”, the man behind it sure made it seem that way. Her smile wavered as she reluctantly let the memory go, knowing that if she dwelled too long on what she had, she’d be overcome with grief. She let Shaun replace Nate, like a carrot on a stick to keep her going.

 Belle nearly stepped on a ghoul because she was lost in her thoughts, and yelped when it groaned and grabbed at her feet. She backed up, pulling the sword from her belt loop, only relaxing when she saw what it was.

“No big deal,” she said to herself, sauntering towards the lone, staggering thing, “I’ll just-“

She stopped, words caught in her throat, as one ghoul quickly became six as they crawled out of gutters and fell from windows. She had a white-knuckled grip on the Shishkebab, frantically clicking a switch on the hilt with her thumb until it roared to life. The heat was comforting, and she cut down the first ghoul that lunged at her.

While the first died, a second ran at her with inhuman speed, lunging and catching her left arm between its teeth. Belle shrieked as it gnawed on her armor, radiated arms clawing at her face and hands. She groaned in pain and disgust when an overgrown fingernail ripped down her cheek.

She cut the second by the back if its neck, kicked it off of her arm, and took off running towards the gunfire. As she ran for what she hoped would be help, she shut the flames off of her sword and held it closer. Hisses and growls seemed to be right on top of her, and she didn’t dare turn around. She rounded a corner, almost falling down, and ran straight through barricades surrounding the police station.

And, she thought, looking down her nose, right into the barrel of a laser pistol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is late!! blame law and order and my boyfriend lmao; the next chapter will pick up right where this left off~~


	5. Paladin Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle meets the Brotherhood of Steel

Belle screeched the first thing that came to her mind, throwing her hands up, “I’m not a ghoul!” Her eyes trailed upwards to the owner of the gun, a helmeted face in a nice suit of power armor. An altered, gruff voice responded, lifting the gun away and pointing towards the entrance, “I can see that. Get behind me civilian!”

More than happy to comply, she put her sword away and lifted her gun from its holster. Belle side shuffled around the soldier, peeking out from behind 300 pounds of metal armor. She pulled her rifle to her shoulder and closed one eye, aiming and waiting for ghouls to stumble through. Together, they shot and covered each other’s backs like they’d rehearsed it.

When she would turn to cover his 6, she’d catch a glimpse of a woman kneeling next to a hunched form, blood soaking her hands as she fretted. Every time, the sight filled Belle with more fervor, and she stopped ghouls with a shot to the torso while the man beside her finished it off with a shot to the head.

Dozens of ghouls came at them, and they managed to destroy nearly every one at the entrance of the barricades, and ghouls began tripping over their dead counterparts. It was during this trickle that Belle holstered her gun and branded her sword once again, eager to practice with it. She moved in front of the man, to his audible surprise, and killed the remaining few ghouls that shambled towards them with quick slices or messy jabs. She was disgusted, covered in blood, and full of adrenaline when she turned towards Mr. Power Armor. 

Out of breath, she smiled pleasantly, “Hi, I’m-“

He interrupted her by taking off his helmet, blinking against the sun, and squinting at her, “Who are you?”

Belle found herself held in place by very deep, piercing brown eyes that seemed to gather her entire being in a single once over. She stuttered and suddenly found herself very interested in the blood on her clothes.

“I’ve never seen a civilian who could handle themselves so well out here,” he continued. Belle wanted to take it as appraisal, but she could hear suspicion in his tone.

“I’m just… passing through,” she answered truthfully, looking up at him. “I’m Belle Viosks.”

He huffed a bit, turning to walk inside, “Follow me, we’ll talk more inside. And,” he glanced back at her, adding it as an afterthought, “thank you.”

“How’s Knight Rhys, Haylen?” he asked, stopping beside the young woman Belle noticed earlier. She was helping someone up, and he had his hand clasped to his side.

“Oh, it’s more damaged pride than anything else, Paladin. Isn’t that right, Rhys?” she smiled, pulling his arm over her shoulders.

Rhys started with a half-hearted snark but let it go, grinning at Haylen as they limped towards the door. The man nodded and opened the door for him, looking at Belle expectantly until she followed as well.

_Well, points for manners. And Christ, that hair…_ Belle found herself in the middle of an almost adolescent infatuation with a man she hardly knew, and stifled a laugh. Nate always said she was a flirt.

Her heart panged with guilt when she thought of Nate, and she put her sword away. Hot army man or not, this ‘Paladin’ wasn’t _her_ hot army man.

The building she stepped into wasn’t the police station she’d been briefed in 210 years ago. If the fluorescent lights overhead weren’t dead, they were flickering or dangling precariously from their wires. There were a few sleeping bags situated against the wall, and Belle could see hints of destruction further into the building. Papers were scattered everywhere, the walls were peeling or smashed altogether, and there was part of a skeleton peeking from a doorway to her left. She looked away, painfully aware that she could have talked to and known whoever it used to be.

“So, Paladin…?” she trailed off in question, following him to the middle of the room.

“Danse.” He replied curtly, setting the helmet on a reception desk. Paladin Danse turned to look at her, eyes narrowed. The power armor may have restricted his body language, but damn if he wasn’t an open book. Belle was getting all kinds of readings from the look he was giving her, and almost none of them were pleasant.

He continued, “We’re the Brotherhood of Steel. I assume you heard our radio message?”

“Yes,” Belle smiled, “But, um. What’s the Brotherhood of Steel?”

Paladin Danse, in Belle’s opinion, looked personally attacked. Before he could speak up, however, Rhys chirped up from a few feet away. “You don’t know who the Brotherhood of Steel is, Wastelander?” He stood from an old chair, ignoring Haylen’s protests, and walked towards her.

His eyes were brimming with hatred, and Belle was a bit taken aback; she was used to the hostility of the Commonwealth, but she’d just saved this guy’s life. She'd thought they'd all be at least a little gracious.

Unable to help herself, she made a look of mock confusion and tilted her head at Rhys, “Gee, no, mister. And you are…?”

“Rhys. _Knight_ Rhys,” he put emphasis on the word, and leaned towards her, sneering, “What are you?”

“Rhys, that’s enough,” Danse stepped a bit in front of Belle as she crossed her arms, “Civilian or not, she just helped a great deal. I expect you to show her the gratitude she deserves.”

Belle scoffed and turned towards the desk, peeking into ammo boxes. Whatever this Brotherhood was, it was making one hell of an impression. At least the 7ft tinman was looking out for her. Rhys huffed and shuffled over to a wall, leaning against it and watching them. Haylen walked over and stuck him with a needle, a bit harshly. Belle snickered when she heard Rhys yelp.

“So,” Danse walked around her, so she had to face him, “Viosks. What are you really doing out here? Most wastelanders don’t wander so far from their homes.”

Belle tried to ignore the fact that he’s called her _Viosks._ She’d heard that name in that damned tone more times than she’d like. Condescending. “If you really have to know, I’m on my way to Diamond City. I heard there’s someone there who can help me with something.” _Wait, shit-_ Why’d she tell him that? She could have just been a merchant or a trader. But something… something about the way Danse looked at her made her want to tell the truth. Like he actually expected her to, or that he’d believe her nonetheless. Belle sighed through her nose and prepared for more questions.

“Help? With what?” he inquired, drumming his fingers on the thigh of his armor.

“My son, Shaun, is missing. I’m trying to find the bastard that took him.” Belle took out her gun and inspected it, trying not to look up for his reaction. While his silence and soft “I’m so sorry” were par for the course, what he said next was not.

“Maybe the Brotherhood could help you find your boy,” he said. Rhys’ eyes narrowed, and he pushed off from the wall.

“Now wait just a minute, Danse. How are we going to help this… _civilian_ if we can’t even help ourselves? I don’t have to remind you that we’re stranded here.”

Belle looked up, both hopeful and concerned, “Slow down. You could help me find Shaun, but…?”

Danse sighed, “But we have no way of contacting our HQ. That’s where you come in.”

“I’m listening,” she replied, leaning her hip against the desk. Rhys threw his hands up and marched towards her, obviously annoyed.

“The Prydwen can only be contacted through a radio. And as of right now, we don’t have a radio strong enough to broadcast. We know where the technology is, but every time we try to leave this fucking shack, we nearly lose another one of our own. It was hell just _getting_ here. So we stay here, and we fight, and we _don’t_ wait for brave little girls like you to march in and save the day.”

Belle blinked a few times, lost for words. While confused about what exactly a Prydwen was, she could feel a bit of anger burning in her stomach, and she fought to keep the redness out of her face. Knight or not, he didn't have an excuse for treating her so roughly. “Well, _Knight_ , I didn’t exactly ask you, now did I? I was speaking to who I believe to be your Commanding Officer. So please,” she smiled politely, shooing him with her hand, “Sit down.”

_If his face gets any redder, it’ll explode._ Rhys opened his mouth and raised his hand, and Belle wasn’t sure if he was going to hit her or yell at her or both. She flinched a bit before Haylen stepped in and whacked him on the chest.

“Rhys! What is up with you today? Come on, let’s just go sit down over here. You need to keep an open mind about this.”

Belle grinned as Haylen dragged him away, and looked back up at Danse. “Is this… not usually something you do? Talk to us mere Commonwealth folk?”

“Actually,” he replied, glancing over her shoulder and to his soldiers, “No, it’s not. But we’re desperate, as sad as I am to say it. And you’ve proven yourself more than capable. Are you familiar with the Arcjet Systems building west of here? We need the Deep Range Transmitter from that building to contact the Prydwen, and I can’t do it alone. If you help us, I can guarantee that the Brotherhood will stop at nothing to get your son back to you.”

Belle’s heart jumped, and she smiled uncontrollably at the thought of this absolute army thundering into whatever hole Kellogg lived in to save her son. “Yes. Absolutely, yes, I will definitely help you. What do I need to do?”

“Just stock up on whatever you need, and meet me back here when you’re ready. I'll explain on the way. There’s plenty of supplies for you scattered around here somewhere.”

                                    ----------------------------------------------------

Belle found an old knapsack in evidence lockup that was nearly free of bloodstains, and stuffed it full of water, chems, and ammo. She also emptied out her pockets and shrugged off her jacket, leaving it on a bench. Her long sleeve would keep the sun off and keep her armor from chaffing her skin. The heat was bad enough without a heavy jacket weighing her down. She set the bag down and looked for something to hold her hair back, to no avail. She groaned and tugged at it. It was past her shoulders and jet black; not exactly a good combo for post-apocalyptic activities. She was nearly ready to find a knife and chop it off warrior-style, but held out on the hope that someone in Diamond City could fix it. She reloaded her combat rifle and stuck it in the knapsack with the barrel down. Same mechanic as her old holster, she’d just have a little trouble putting it back in.

She was leaving the room with the back slung over her shoulder when she saw an old 10mm pistol still sitting in a holster. She shrugged, picked it up, and synched it around her waist. One could never have too many guns. She felt a bit more weighed down, but solid. The pack was bordering on heavy, but it was reassuring that she had supplies to last her through Arcjet and into Diamond City. Plus, she thought happily, there was a little pouch on the side of her bag for the caps she’d found.

“I’m ready, Paladin,” she said, walking into the reception area. He glanced at her up and down before grabbing his laser weapon and nodding at Rhys and Haylen.

“You two be careful. We should be back before nightfall.” Danse picked up his helmet, flipped it over in his hands, and put it on, twisting until the hydraulics hissed. He marched to the door and opened it, stepping out.

Belle walked over to Haylen, “Sorry, I didn’t get to introduce myself earlier. Maybe we can talk more when I get back?”

Haylen smiled politely and nodded, “Of course, Viosks. Now go, you don’t want to keep the Paladin waiting. Trust me.”

Belle gave a little salute and walked outside, shutting the door firmly behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive decided that im going to make this part one of a series!! this is gonna be a really short intro to belle and danse, and im nearly finished with it. the next part will be off-canon and have an actual plot!! (yayyy) ill also be woring on a fic of belle's more alpha timeline with hancock, but itll be more focused on her. eeeeee ^^


	6. ArcJet Systems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Danse travel to ArcJet and retrieve the Deep Range Transmitter. Belle makes an important decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, where to begin? I'm sorry for being gone for a year with no warning? I'm sorry for starting this series up again at 2am when I'm bored? Hopefully I won't fall out of it this time? There's no way to put how sorry I am to those who were interested in this series! Especially MangoBait, whose comments and encouragements have actually inspired me to continue this story. ((I hope she continues reading!)) I'll be deviating from canon dialogue and story from this point on, making the Sole Survivor's journey to find Shaun more of a subplot to the romance and action. Thank you for reading this far and checking back in on the story. <3 I'll be posting a chapter a week at least, but maybe sooner.

The sun was hot and the pavement seemed to radiate with the stench of decay. Belle could hardly stand it beating against her skull in dead silence, but solider boy insisted on droning on about the Brotherhood of Steel and their mission to uphold and protect the past from the future. She tuned most of it out and focused on keeping up with him. Paladin Danse stopped ahead, hydraulics hissing as they settled into the typical still position of live power armor, attentive and ready to move. 

“Do you see that?” he whispered, raising his laser pistol. “Mercenaries. It looks like they’ve just raided a caravan. Filthy savages.” 

Belle stepped around the hulking mass of metal and squinted until the shadows under the overpass sharpened into focus. A tuft of salt-and-pepper hair was showing from under a deceased brahmin, with blood pooling around the feet of four men rummaging in the gore. Her heart skipped as she drew her weapon. She’d just bought ammo from that group right outside of Sanctuary not three days past, and they were shot like dogs by brutes just looking for an easy stash. 

“On my count, you’ll cut around and wait until I take care of them. Do not engage. Is that clear?”

Danse tried to crane his neck to turn the helmet as much as possible without moving the power armor and noisily alerting the criminals. “Civilian? Do not engage.” 

Belle ignored the soft hiss of his voice through the helmet’s speaker and flicked the safety off her gun. Damn those mercs. She stepped forward and raised the gun. 

She knew Danse could see her now, and she could hear the aggravation in his voice even if she wasn’t paying attention to the words. “Don’t fire that weapon, Viosks. Move around like I said and let me handle it.”

Her finger slipped into the trigger guard. “Thieving bastards,” she mumbled, closing one eye against the glint of light on the barrel. She squeezed the trigger, blowing apart the head of the nearest mercenary, making the others jump with shock and start firing with a scary accuracy towards her and Paladin Danse. 

Danse sprang into action, moving with a quick efficiency that only years working with power armor could give. Belle remembered how bulky and clumsy she felt with a suit on. Every raider she encountered seemed to drive them with a practiced ease as well. Apparently, I’m the only one in the whole damn Commonwealth not trained in how to drive a fucking Jaeger, she thought, throwing herself into the tall weeds as a laser flew past her ear. 

Belle crawled through the grass, ducking under gunfire, until she brushed against one of the supports to the overpass. She stood quickly, gun at her shoulder, and saw the last two men dancing around Danse’s gun, firing pop shots whenever they got the chance.

She giggled briefly at his name’s coincidence and watched as he fired into one man’s unarmored leg, dropping him in a boneless pile to the ground. He began to reload, turned towards the other one, when she saw the injured man crawl to Danse’s blind side and raise his gun towards the fusion core. 

Shit- “Danse, behind!” she yelled, running around to get a clear shot. Without hesitation, he turned around and finished off the man lying on the ground as a bullet pinged off his chest plate. Belle shot the last merc immediately afterwards, sending a round through his shoulder and neck. 

She waited for Danse to catch up, using her sweat to slick back her matted hair, before saying anything. “Sorry for being trigger-happy. I knew that guy.”

“The criminal?” He seemed confused, even through the distortion in the speaker. 

“No, the trader. We did business a few days ago.” Belle knelt next to the man’s body, not even trying to push the two-ton brahmin off of it. She lightly touched his hair before flinching away. Her stomach churned uneasily. 

Danse was quiet for a few moments before clearing his throat and moving on. Belle got the hint and stood, giving one last glimpse at the scene before jogging ahead. 

After a minute or so of silence, he spoke, “That’s how the Wasteland is. Not just here, but everywhere. Anytime you say goodbye to someone, you have to understand that you may not say hello again.” His voice sounded heavy, but Belle didn’t push it. She knew better than to push anyone on information- her days as a lawyer were short, but she learned that silence was the best way to a confession. 

But he didn’t say another word for the several miles they walked. The short combat was silent but for the ringing of weapons and growl of irradiated monsters. 

“There it is. ArcJet Systems. Come on,” he said. He jogged ahead, weapon scanning for resistance as they approached the front door. 

“Call me crazy,” Belle said, “but I don’t like how we could just walk up to this.”

“My thoughts exactly. Stay close. There’s no telling who or what is crawling around in there.”

Belle opened the door and walked inside, rubbing her eyes to adjust to the low, unnatural lighting. Just as she could see the disarray and debris the inside had become, Danse managed to duck inside the narrow doorframe and the door shut abruptly behind him.

“It was corporations like these that put the last nail in the coffin for mankind,” he said, scoffing in disgust. “They exploited technology for their own gains and ignored the greater costs.”

“You said it,” she mumbled, kicking over old cans and figurines. The reception area looked like it had been crammed with propaganda. 

A Mister Handy casually drifted by, causing Belle to jump and nearly scream. “Fucking robot!” she said, waving her free hand wildly at the thing. It ignored her and happily turned a corner. 

Danse moved down a corridor and Belle picked her way over the mess and followed. “Look,” he said, “The automated defense has already been dealt with.”

She moved around him and whistled under her breath. Four or five robot’s worth of scrap metal, wires, and glass was strewn throughout the room, right in front of their dispatch pods. 

“Brotherhood handiwork?” she guessed. 

“Unfortunately, no. There’s no bullet casings or blood anywhere, so this must have been Institute synths.”

She gulped and readjusted her grip on the gun as chills traveled from her neck to the back of her knees. She hadn’t seen any synths yet, but everyone she came across described them as demons straight out of hell. Fear made her knees and elbows weak, but she stood straight and rolled her shoulders until the ice in her stomach melted away. So far, the Brotherhood seemed like a remnant of the old U.S. military. If that was true, she thought with a quick sideward glance at the soldier beside her, she should be fine.

“I’ll be on the lookout, then,” she said, trying to sound braver than she felt.

“Roger that. Let’s move out.”

They stepped into a much larger room, with a huge locked door taking up a portion of one wall and computers decorating the wall opposite. 

“See if you can get that door open,” he said. Belle set her gun on the desk and bent over one screen, typing basic hacking codes into the database. Unfortunately, he could remember only the bare minimum, seeing as how her edgy college days were far behind her. But the memories of logging into the professor’s mainframes with other chortling software nerds were clear. 

In just a few minutes, she unlocked the door and picked up the gun, grinning. “Nice!”

As soon as the word was out of her mouth, she heard a chilling monotone voice call out from beyond the door, “Is someone present?”

She froze, gun pressed against her chest. Danse was standing still as well, gun pointed at the doorway, steady and waiting. Belle fumbled and sloppily pressed the gun against her shoulder, hand wrapped tightly around the support to keep from shaking.

“Is someone present?” the voice repeated, louder now. “I know you are there.”

Belle cocked her gun, a bullet ready in the chamber as the metallic click of synth feet stepped into the room. Her heart froze, locking eyes with the machine. An eternity seemed to pass. 

“Hostile sensor reading detected,” it said, lipless mouth unmoving. Before she could move, the laser cut through her armor and dropped her to her knees. She wheezed in pain, heart painfully warming back up in the heat of battle. Laying down behind a desk, out of the line of fire, she watched in horror as the one pair of feet grew to three and then four, Danse firing endlessly. Her last stimpak was at the bottom of her bag, but she saw one knocked to the floor a few feet away. 

After jamming it into her hip, she stood and fired at the heads of the nearest remaining synths. The bullets pinged harmlessly off their metal skulls. 

Belle fired again and again, adrenaline pounding through her veins, until she finally wore through one synth and made it short-circuit. The other one fired intermittently between her and Danse. Her gun clicked on an empty barrel a number of times before she realized she was out of bullets. 

The synth rolled its eyes towards her, “Hello,” and began shooting without mercy. Belle dropped to the ground and pressed her back against the desk, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. The guns popping and zapping grew muffled, and she whimpered. She’d die here if Danse wasn’t here with his laser weapon. She’d die unceremoniously and without Shaun. Not even close to Diamond City or any answers. 

Belle whimpered as the noises ceased, shaking with cowardice. She didn’t know if she was more frightened or ashamed, but when Danse put a heavy metal glove on her shoulder, the answer was clear. 

“Was that your first time seeing an Institute synth?” he asked, helping her stand. Belle cleared her throat and reloaded her gun with the last of her spare ammo. Her cheeks were burning.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to be upset. It’s perfectly normal for someone like you to be afraid.”

“Someone like me?” she repeated, surprisingly offended.

“You handle yourself well, but no one can prepare themselves for those… things. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Come on, let’s get going.”

Belle grumbled as he walked away and traded her combat rifle for a beat-up looking laser rifle one of the synths had been carrying. She collected the ammo they’d been carrying, shouldered her bag, and followed Danse through the maze of torn down building and bombed out hallways until the reaches the chamber of an old rocket testing room. 

“It’s a shame you left that sword at the police station,” he said, looking up into the seemingly endless winding staircase. 

“What? Why?”

“I’d love to try it out on our new guests. Hurry, get into that launch bay while I prep this area with explosives.”

Belle wanted to argue with his orders, or disobey him just to show that she could, but the synths crawling down the walls and jumping over platforms made his logic seem more than pleasing. She rushed inside the bay, slamming the door buttons with her fist as she went. 

“Damn if I’m going to sit here and do nothing,” she said, looking around for something useful. The firefight outside was beginning, and Danse sounded outnumbered. 

A bright red button caught her attention. “’Start engine’”, huh? Well, don’t mind if I do.”

Belle worked on reconnecting the power, remembering the elevator she saw outside. They’d need that thing up and running if they were going to get out of here anyway. Filled with a new sense of purpose since her confidence was dashed in battle, she flipped the power switches and hit the start button without a second thought. 

“Command accepted. Starting five second countdown,” the system beeped. Damn, Belle thought, looking through the window, there must be over a dozen synths in there. Danse must be having a hard time.

“Five…”

Wait. Danse.

“Four…”

That engine was right on top of him.

“Three…”

Belle pounded on the window with her fists and yelled as loud as she could for Danse to move as far away from the rocket as possible. 

“Two…” 

The doors were locked. He couldn’t hear her over the gunfire.

“One…”

“DANSE! MOVE!”

He turned towards the launch bay in confusion, still firing at the onslaught of synth lasers. 

“Engine firing.”

The room was instantly filled with an almost liquid heat, fire so hot it burned white. Belle jumped back from the window even though the technology in the insulation kept it from overheating. Danse took a knee almost immediately, armor shimmering and wavering against the intense blast of fuel. The engine ceased after a few seconds, leaving the floor looking molten and Danse looking more than a little cooked. His armor was deathly still. 

Belle rushed to the doors and hammered the buttons to open the locks. “Come on, come on!”

“Test firing completed with an efficiency rate of 96.7 percent.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

The doors finally slid open and she ran out, coming to a stop within a few feet of the Paladin. His armor was still smoking. 

“Oh my God! Are you okay?” she hovered her hands near him, wanting to help him to his feet. The hydraulics steamed and his armor began moving again, almost quivering as he breathed heavily, the helmet and speaker sparking back to life.

“Got… cooked by those flames,” he croaked, “But thanks to the power armor… I’m still in one piece.”

“I’m so sorry, I-,” she started, but he interrupted her.

“The important thing is that we’re still alive,” he said somewhat bitterly, “and we have a way to get to the transmitter.” He stood, “Let’s go,” and stepped into the elevator. Belle followed tentatively, trying not to be proud of the synth bodies littered behind them. 

The ride was silent, as well as the fight for the transmitter with the last remaining synths. Belle tried to make up for her previous fear and soldier-cooking by taking out the majority of them, including salvaging the transmitter from the chest of the more armored synth.

“Nice work,” Danse said, giving her a small nod. A small weight lifted off her shoulders, and she breathed a little easier on the way outside. 

They stood by a gate, near the bunker they emerged from, and Paladin Danse seemed to relax a little as well. 

“Well,” he said, “that could have gone smoother. But mission accomplished.”

Belle smiled, “Yeah. A little less medium rare next time.”

She thought she heard a small laugh, but wasn’t sure, because it was covered up almost instantly by what he said next. 

“It’s a refreshing change to work well with a civilian who can follow orders. I thought we did well as a team.”

“It’s a refreshing change for someone’s orders not to be batshit crazy. I thought so too. Oh!” Belle reached into her chest plate and brought out the transmitter, “Here. Wouldn’t want you to forget it after all the trouble we went through.”

“Thank you. I have compensation waiting for you at the station, for your efforts. It’s my own personal modification of the standard Brotherhood laser rifle.” Belle tried not to laugh at how proud he sounded. 

“You don’t have to compensate me, Paladin.”

“I know. But you’d handle the gun well. And that brings me to what I wanted to ask you.” He shifted in his stance a small bit and continued, “You handled yourself like a soldier in there. Our op could have ended in a complete disaster, but you kept your cool and made tactical decisions. I have no doubt in my mind that you’ve got what it takes.”

Belle stayed silent, excitement growing. There was no way he was about to ask what she thought he was about to ask. Was there?

“How would you like to join the Brotherhood of-“

“I’d be honored to!” she interrupted, smiling wide enough to make her cheeks ache. 

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said. She could hear the returned smile in his voice, even if that helmet was hiding it. “Let’s get back to the police station.”

“And you’ll help me find Shaun, right? My son?”

“The Brotherhood is family. Once you’re a part of that family, we’ll stop at nothing to get your boy back. I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> First fic! Constructive criticism is appreciated, but please be gentle. ;; If you have any ideas or OCs you'd like to see, let me know!


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